


This is some absolutely domestic nonsense

by Polyhexian



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Good ending timeline, Mechpreg, Multi, POV Third Person, Polyamory, Post canon, Sticky Sexual Interfacing, this is pretty silly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-22
Updated: 2020-07-22
Packaged: 2021-03-05 03:34:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,034
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25447699
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Polyhexian/pseuds/Polyhexian
Summary: Tailgate wants a sparkling.
Relationships: Cyclonus/Tailgate (Transformers), Cyclonus/Tailgate/Whirl (Transformers), Cyclonus/Whirl (Transformers), Tailgate/Whirl
Comments: 6
Kudos: 115





	This is some absolutely domestic nonsense

**Author's Note:**

> HI full disclosure this was sort of a stream of conscious story and I lost steam on it ages ago so, I've decided I'm clearly not going to go anywhere with it so it just sort of. Ends. I'm sorry!!! I'm terrible at fics like this

Tailgate was completely lost in a haze of bliss, his legs like jelly and only Whirl's claws around his waist keeping him up, seated on his spike, Cyclonus behind him, his own spike in Tailgate's aft, leaving him deliciously full to the brink of offlining. Tailgate wasn't able to convince them to do this often, both always so paranoid they were going to break him somehow, as if he wasn't _built_ for durability. 

He whined again, wordless, pleading, as Whirl thrust upward again, out of sync with Cyclonus behind him, the frenetic slurry of signals being sent from his interface array turning his brain to mush. Whirl came first, but he usually did, though Cyclonus followed soon after. Tailgate didn't even realize he'd overloaded again until he'd already done it, and it was, still seated on both their spikes, completely overwhelmed with how much he loved them and how much he loved being alive in general, having just been _thoroughly_ fragged, Tailgate said something he'd been thinking about a lot recently and suddenly no longer had the filter to prevent vocalizing. 

"I want a sparkling," said Tailgate. 

"What," said Whirl and Cyclonus. 

"Hm," said Tailgate, feeling strangely embarrassed for someone who shamelessly had two spikes and a flood of transfluid between his legs, "I did not mean to say that." 

Tailgate pushed weakly at Whirl's stomach until the mech under him shifted his grip on his hips and helped ease him up and onto his stomach, strutless. Cyclonus was apparently feeling clingy, though, because as soon as he was on the berth next to Whirl he picked Tailgate up and moved him to his chest. The minibot idly wondered if he was ever going to get tired of being mechhandled. 

"You've picked a strange time to mention this," Cyclonus mumbled into the top of Tailgate's helm, one arm slung loosely around his back. 

"I dunno, it just sort of slipped out," Tailgate sighed, nuzzling the crook of Cyclonus's neck, "I've been thinking about it. Haven't you thought about it?" 

"I have," Cyclonus confirmed, "I admit, the idea is tempting." He paused. "Whirl, you're being uncharacteristically quiet." 

"I feel like y'all already know the anxieties I got regardin' that without me vocalizin' 'em," Whirl answered, optic offline, "It's a concept."

"Which is winning," Tailgate sighed, "'I would be a bad parent' or 'everyone will hate my kid because of me.'" 

"Ding ding ding," said Whirl, "second one."

"I think you're being paranoid, but I always think you're being paranoid," Tailgate rolled over and grabbed at Whirl's neck, clinging, "we live on the Lost Light. Everyone will be so excited by the idea of a sparkling on board they'll completely forget you're even here."

"Paradoxically persuasive," Whirl commented, returning Tailgate's aggressive nuzzle, "first one, then." 

"Now _that's_ just crazy talk," Tailgate scoffed, "You'd be _such_ a good parent."

"You've done quite well with Sparky," Cyclonus pointed out.

"Okay, but she's not a _sparkling_ , she's a 200 ton colony of carnivorous shape shifting scraplets that lives in the basement," Whirl responded, " _and_ she's not exactly winning any popularity contests."

"That's more because she's antisocial and less because you didn't do a good job raising her," Tailgate argued, "It's not _your_ fault she doesn't like anyone but you."

"Nonetheless," Cyclonus said, scooting closer so he could press a kiss to Whirl's helm casing, "We aren't making any decisions unless everyone agrees."

"For sure!" Tailgate agreed, "So don't stress about it." 

"Alright," Whirl said, eventually, "I'll think about it."

"That's all I'm asking, Birdy," Tailgate said, nuzzling his head against Whirl's neck, "Think about it!" 

* * *

Whirl thought about it. All night, in fact, and most of the next day during his shift, he thought about it. The problem was that he couldn't just think _no, bad idea, don't wanna._ Some part of him definitely _was_ interested, but boy, there were so many reasons he _shouldn't._ Whirl was _not_ good parenting material and he knew it.

Tailgate was waiting for him alone when he got to their regular booth at Swerve's, and perked up, waving. Not even Whirl's anxiety stood a chance in front of Tailgate's unrelenting optimism, though, and he sat down across from him, waving at a serving drone for his usual. 

"How was your shift!" Tailgate chirped, kicking his legs under the table. 

"Boring," Whirl complained, and flattened himself on the table, folding his arms with a huff. Tailgate moved his drink so he could put his palms on the sides of Whirl's head and stroke soothing circles. "Missed you."

"It was like, six hours, Whirl," Tailgate laughed, rolling his optical display. 

"That's so many hours," Whirl whined, "And I was _distracted._ "

"Oh, yeah?" Tailgate asked, without stopping his hands, "Thinking about the sparkling all day?"

"Yeah."

"So what _are_ you thinking, huh?" 

"I dunno," Whirl sighed, tilting his helm to move Tailgate's hands slightly to the left, "I'm thinking I like the _idea_ , but the odds are too high I'll fuck it up."

"I think you're too mean to yourself," Tailgate tutted, "You're very nurturing when you wanna be. And, besides, you got both of _us,_ so like, between the three of us, surely we can avoid fucking it up _too_ badly, hm?" 

Whirl fidgeted, antennae flicking anxiously until Tailgate moved one hand to hold it down. "I _want_ to. The more I think about it the more I _want_ to, but. I'm gonna wreck it! I'm gonna fuck it up somehow. I'm gonna ruin them."

"No, you won't," Tailgate said, softly, leaning forward to press his mask gently to the top of Whirl's helm casing, a static kiss that made Whirl sigh appreciatively, "You'll be a great parent." 

Tailgate sat back as the serving drone arrived with Whirl's Nightmare-Fuel-and-phosphoric-acid mixer, and Whirl picked his head up to grab it. 

"Have I missed anything?" said Cyclonus, coolly, sliding into the seat beside Tailgate. 

"We got double conjunxed while you were gone," said Whirl, "We're honeymooning on Regulon IV without you."

"Whirl!" Tailgate snorted. 

"Oh, dear, well, have fun, then," Cyclonus said, ever-unantagonizable, "More for me." He plucked Whirl's drink from his claws and took a delicate sip.

"Hey!" Whirl snapped, snagging it back, "Rude!" 

"We're talking about sparklings again," said Tailgate to Cyclonus, who hummed in thought.

"And?" Cyclonus prompted.

"Aaaaaand ya got me," Whirl sighed, "I'm on board."

"Eeeee," Tailgate squealed, "We're doing it! We're gonna be parents!"

"So," said Whirl, "Who's gettin' knocked up, huh?" 

There was a moment of silence.

"Well, me, I think?" said Tailgate. Cyclonus and Whirl exchanged a look. "What?" 

"Tailgate, dear," said Cyclonus, gently, "You have a very small frame."

"And?"

"And you'll pop like a balloon," Whirl said, and Cyclonus made a particularly unhappy face. "Me and Cyc are _already_ bigger than average. Tiny carrier, big sire? Recipe for disaster. All kinds of complications."

"Oh," said Tailgate, sadly, sitting back, "Hm. I guess I hadn't thought about that."

"I suppose we could always have a donor," Cyclonus suggested, and Tailgate rolled his optics up at him. 

"Why don't you carry, then?" he asked. Cyclonus grimaced.

"I've already spoken to Ratchet about it. He said my spark is healthy enough to sire, but, the long term exposure from the dead universe on my frame…" He set his chin in his hands, leaning forward unhappily, "He did not believe I could bring a healthy sparkling to term." 

Tailgate gasped, "Oh, Cyclonus! I'm so sorry!" 

"Hrrm," Whirl leaned forward on a claw, tapping his helm casing anxiously, "I don't know how good I am either. I, uh, I used to do a lot of circuit boosters back in the day."

"You would need to get a physical," Cyclonus murmured, "Hm. What a unique predicament."

"Would you even _want_ to carry if you could?" Tailgate prompted, "You don't have to, Birdy, we have other options. You don't have to do _anything_ , okay?"

"I know," said Whirl, "let's just see if I _can_ first."

* * *

"I don't see why not," said Ratchet, retracting his diagnostic cables, "There's booster damage, sure, but it's mostly healed now. There's nothing I think would cause a problem with carrying to term." 

"You really think so?" Whirl fretted, looking down at his frame like he might suddenly peer beneath his armour and peek at internal scarring, "No risk to the bitlet?" 

"Nothing more than usual," Ratchet shook his head, "But there are always risks with carrying."

"What kind of risks?" Tailgate fretted, holding one of Whirl's claws beside him on the berth.

"Carrying is energy intensive," Ratchet told him, "Not to mention a strain on any type of frame. We're talking generating sentio metalico from scratch here, it takes a lot out of you. I can give you a data packet to read up on, and you can make whatever call you want to." 

Whirl tilted his head when he got the download and flipped through it in his HUD, grimacing at some of the particularly messy potential outcomes. 

"Thanks," said Whirl, hopping down onto the floor, "We'll let you know." 

"Make sure you do!" Ratchet said, as Whirl turned to leave, "Regular physicals are important through the whole process, got it?"

"Yessir, doc," Whirl said, as the door shut behind them.

"I'm kind of losing momentum on this," Tailgate admitted, optical display ticking back and forth, telltale giveaway he was reading his HUD. 

"I mean, I think most of this is low percentage stuff," Whirl shrugged, "I think it will probably be fine." 

"Do you?" Tailgate fretted.

"I'd just have to take better care of myself is all."

There was a moment of silence so long Whirl had to look back down at Tailgate to see why he was quiet, and found him staring up at him, visor flared, "Well, Primus, Whirl, if this will actually convince you to take better care of yourself, I'll knock you up right now!" 

"Oh, god," Whirl rolled his optic, "I'm already doomed."

Tailgate swung his arm back and forth, mood clearly skyrocketing, "I can't _wait_ to tell Cyclonus you're already thinking of," Tailgate squealed, "Taking _better care of yourself_!"

* * *

"You know, you're lucky there's two of us," commented Tailgate, sitting next to Whirl and tracing circles around his spark chamber with his fingers while he shivered, "The way your cockpit is angled, I don't know if you _could_ merge and overload at the same time."

"I don't _need_ to overload," Whirl answered, shifting his legs to give Cyclonus more room to work, pressing warm kisses to the inside of his thighs, "the flare just helps it take. I _read_ the datapacket."

"Oh, you read?" Tailgate giggled, leaning forward to give him a chaste faceplate kiss, "I didn't know."

"Hush, you," Whirl scoffed, leaning his head back and moaning appreciatively as Cyclonus ran his tongue through the lips of his valve and suckled at the soft protoflesh of his anterior node at its end. 

"Oh, is that what you want?" Tailgate pouted, "You want me to be quiet?" 

"Nn," Whirl answered, intelligently, as Cyclonus did something between his legs that absorbed his attention, "I didn't say that." 

"Mm, you did tell me to hush," he reminded him, shifting forward to move his hands up Whirl's throat, over the divets and layered platelets where it curved, pressing a chaste mask-kiss to the side of his helm. 

* * *

"I'm tellin' you, you're seeing things," Whirl scoffed, tilting his head to the side as he peered into his spark chamber, "There's nothing there."

"You think I don't know what your spark looks like?" Tailgate shook his head, "No, it's definitely something." 

"I don't know," Cyclonus murmured, optics narrowed, hand over his face in thought, "It could be." 

"No way," Whirl insisted, "I'm telling you, it sparks all the time. That ain't nothin'."

"No, look! Look, there," Cyclonus suddenly leaned forward, pointing, "That's _definitely_ an orbital."

"I told you!" Tailgate bounced, "That's it! You're carrying!" 

"Well fuck me running," said Whirl, craning to see.

"We already did that," Tailgate teased, and Whirl elbowed him with a huff. 

"I guess we done it, then," Whirl tittered, his own voice betraying his delight.

"Congratulations, love," said Cyclonus, pressing a kiss to the side of his helm, "You're a carrier."


End file.
